


the star, falling

by aetherae



Category: Tales of Vesperia
Genre: Bad End AU, Gen, but i mean this should be a given with me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-04
Updated: 2016-06-04
Packaged: 2018-07-12 04:37:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7085887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aetherae/pseuds/aetherae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Estelle has never known power like this. She never wanted to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the star, falling

**Author's Note:**

> x-posted from tumblr, a few phrase edits here and there. “can you write anything aside from bad end aus” i swear i can?? really!!!! it just… doesn’t happen…… sweats.

It’s Raven who falls first.

Estelle doesn’t know if it’s because of anger or betrayal or any of the other hundreds of nameless things she felt when she saw him watch her passively through the cage of Alexei’s formula; she’s too far gone to know anymore. The fact remains that her sword slides so easily, effortlessly through Raven’s fake blastia heart, she can feel the bolts and bits breaking in his chest. Shock flashes briefly through his eyes, but by the time she pulls her sword out, he slumps forward onto the ground with a smile, as if he was expecting this. As if he wanted it.

Somewhere far, far away, Estelle is screaming. Here at the top of the Sword Stair, she raises her sword again.

She doesn’t bother to flick the blood off before charging in again.

When Repede lunges at her, she wishes it was with all the disdain and contempt pretends to feel for her, but he doesn’t, and she knows it, because for all the times he refused to give her his paw, she can count just as many times he would walk under her hands to let her stroke his fur, or when he’d curl up at her bedroll because she was the one least used to sleeping in the cold. Just this once, she wishes he really didn’t like her, maybe actually _hated_ her. Maybe that would’ve given him the strength to swipe his knife that much harder at her, given him the speed to run before Angel Ring closed in on him.

The lights of her arte fade, and Repede stops breathing.

 _Stop!_ she screams to herself, _Stop, stop, stop!_ Estelle screams and cries and shrieks, so loudly and viscerally she can hardly hear anything outside of her own voice in her head, but her lips refuse to move. She doesn’t utter a sound as she dodges a swing from Karol, shoves Judith’s spear away with her shield, takes the brunt of Rita’s spell before retaliating with one of her own. She thinks that even if she did, if it was possible, all she would do is vomit out aer. It’s all there is in her now, boiling her blood and burning in her veins as it pushes her to swing her sword with the kind of deadly intent she never even dreamed to have. That’s the only explanation she can think of as she slams her shield into Yuri’s exposed side so easily, as if it was second nature to her.

Estelle has always wanted to be strong. Maybe not like Yuri or Judith, the kind of strength where you challenged yourself to fight and grow, but she wanted to be strong enough. Enough to protect herself, protect her friends. She’s never liked killing, not even if it was only ever monsters, but as long as she could’ve kept them safe with her own two hands, it would’ve been enough.

Now, she wants to be weak. She wants to be the helpless little princess who couldn’t even make it out of a castle on her own. All she wants in the entire world is to be that weak once more.

Because Judith should be tougher than this. Judith should be harder than this. Estelle shouldn’t be able to dodge and roll and guard from all of her swipes, all of her parries, all of her thrusts. Judith has never been soft, never been placid or docile, but Estelle thinks this might be the one time she is. Because when Judith _does_ get Estelle, gets under the swipe of her shield like she should’ve three moves ago, she goes soft. She flinches, she hesitates, and the split second she spends doubting even with the point of her spear right at Estelle’s throat, Estelle’s arm moves against her will and cuts a gash so deep across Judith’s stomach she knows it can’t be healed.

She thinks Judith cries as she dies, heartbroken that she couldn’t save the person who killed her.

Bile builds in her throat. From the pit of her stomach, she wants to vomit.

Instead, she sets her sights on Karol.

He clutches his hammer, legs trembling, and he looks afraid. His family is dying right before his very eyes, and _she’s_ the one killing them. Karol _fears_ her, and her chest tightens so much she’s sure she’ll have to either heave out a sob or risk suffocating. He swings at her, and she’s sure half the bruises bleeding under her skin are because of him. She’s glad, but she doesn’t even flinch through any of them, and before long, her own attacks have sent him running back to heal. Estelle wants to yell at him to keep running, run away as fast as he can before she can do anything to him. But he won’t leave his family behind, not even when half of them are dead, not even when one of them is killing the rest, but she wishes he would because in the time he could’ve spent running, she finishes casting a spell, and six lances of light skewer him where he stands.

He folds over, but still she can see the fear in his eyes; he is so _afraid_ , afraid to die, afraid to lose everyone.

Estelle doesn’t understand why she’s not the one dead instead.

There’s a scream, one that’s not just in her head, and Rita charges in, hotheaded and upset and too blinded by grief and anger to see that she’s forgoing her best asset for her weaker close combat. She whips and thrashes with all the strength she has, every ounce of energy poured into these blows, but it’s not enough. Estelle stands staunchly behind her shield, and this is why Rita should’ve stuck to spells. Their angry little mage could’ve blown her to pieces from halfway across the field if she tried, because even if it takes up twice as much concentration, it doesn’t take half the energy physical combat requires, and Rita’s strength putters out just like her temper, flares hot and bright before fading into embers. Not even a minute later, she doesn’t have the energy for a simple fireball. She doesn’t have the energy to cover the opening in her stance before Estelle shoves her shield into Rita’s side, widening that gap in her defense into a gaping hole and slashing a clean cut from her shoulder all the way down to her ribcage.

Her best friend lies dead at her feet.

Her friends, her _family_ , will rot here at the top of the castle because of her.

“ _Kill me!_ ” she screams, the sound ripping through her throat. It feels like she’s hacking out blood. She might as well be. “Please, _please_ , Yuri, please! _Kill me!!_ ”

Because Yuri is the last, just like he was the first, because surely the person who was there when she started her journey will be the one who can end it. He was there at the beginning, and he has to be there at the end, _her_ end.

“Estelle, you have to wake up! Just wake up!” he yells at her, fierce as their swords clash against each other. Yuri is the strongest person she has ever known, but as their blades lock against each other, she can see his hands shaking while hers remain steady. “Come on, you’re stronger than this, fight back! I know you can fight back!”

But that’s all she’s _been_ doing. All she’s done here is fight back, fight and struggle and clash against them when she wants nothing more than to let Yuri sink his sword clean through her heart. She doesn’t want to fight back anymore, she wants this to _end_.

“Kill me!” she begs again because this is all she can do to try and stop herself. “Please, _save me!_ ”

Yuri lets out a cry that sounds more like a sob, and he swings his sword with all the strength he’s ever had. Estelle takes the swings, takes the blows, and returns each one with a strike of her own. He swings at her side, and it grazes her before she thrusts her sword at his chest, only for him to jump back before it can reach. The ground lights up under her as she tries to cast a spell until a strike from Yuri forces her to stop and bring up her shield. It goes back and forth, back and forth, but while Yuri pants and heaves from the strain, the aer rushing through her veins pushes her to swing strong and true. She can’t think of a time where she felt more exhausted, not even after all the torture Alexei put her through just to get his formula to work, but she moves like this is only the beginning of the fight. And Yuri, as much as he doesn’t want to, as much as she _knows_ he doesn’t want to, tries to kill her. He tries and tries and tries, but each attack is more tiring than the last. Keeping this fight up for so long, seeing her kill the others with her own two hands, trying his damnedest save her only because she begged for it—it was only a matter of time.

Estelle knocks her shield against his hands, and the sword flies from his weakened grip halfway across the field. His eyes widen, and they both know he can’t run to it in time.

She runs her sword straight through him.

His blood drips from his body down onto her sword. He hacks once, twice, and there’s only more blood between them. She thinks she might be crying. Slowly, he raises his hand to her, just barely brushing her cheek.

“Estelle,” he says, and for all her screaming in her head, his words are far too loud. “I’m sorry. _I’m sorry_.”

He goes slack against her, and when she draws her sword out, he crumples easily to the ground. Yuri dies with empty hands and apologies at his lips.

Estelle lives with all their blood on her blade—the last one standing, but the first to die.


End file.
